


tonight, we are canceling this motherfucking anniversary

by stitchingatthecircuitboard



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Past Character Death, no one dies!!! but it's about having died because ~comics~, this is not actually very good shhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchingatthecircuitboard/pseuds/stitchingatthecircuitboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>hey batloser,</em> the text reads. <em>u ready?</em><br/><em>today's the day n shit, bg</em> he types. <em>im ready</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	tonight, we are canceling this motherfucking anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [defcontwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/gifts).



> because of [this.](http://defcontwo.tumblr.com/post/75173032203/stitchingatthecircuitboard-replied-to-your-post)

_hey batloser,_ the text reads. _u ready?_

Jason grabs the small duffle he can fit on his bike, pulls one glove off with his teeth to type, _today’s the day n shit, bg, im ready_

It chimes a moment later, just as he’s finished stuffing the bag on the bike. The tin inside clunks dully against the metal. 

_ur grammar is weird dork,_ Steph’s sent, and Jason fights the urge to stick his tongue out at her for a brief moment. 

_:P_ he types. They bring it out in each other, honestly.

His skin feels too tight, like it always does this day of the year, the cool damp of April misting across his face. The humidity’s part of it, he knows; even the Lazarus Pit hadn’t been able to completely dispel the damage done by the Joker’s crowbar all those years ago, and the scars, stretching across his skin like stitches, are the least of it. 

Steph’s leaning against a pillar in front of the old theater in Crime Alley, purple hoodie pulled up over her hair, phone shining faintly in her hand. She looks up as he pulls over, flashes a grin.

“Hey, Jaybird,” she says, leaning up to hug him. He always forgets how small she is.

“Steph,” Jason answers, returning the hug. The first time they’d done this, they’d both been so…tentative, fragile, careful in how they touched each other, but it’s been years, years since they died, years since they decided to get over it. Hugging Steph is comfortable, and the slice of her grin when she drops down on her heels says it’s the same for her. 

“So,” she says, unlocking the theater door, “Tim hasn’t renovated the actual part of this that’s a theater. Or at least, one of the theaters. I mean. He _has,_ but not into a bat-armory or anything. It’s still distinctly theater-like. And Cass and I figured out how to run the projection stuff the other day, so if you want to watch a movie, we can totally make that happen. Or, y’know, we can make a blanket fort and tell scary stories, I found _the greatest_ spooky lanterns at a garage sale the other day, you will not believe. And Cass said to give you this,” she adds, pulling a shiny black plastic bag from her sweatshirt pocket, “because today’s your day, pal.”

Jason takes it, turns it over in his hands. Rooibos, the label says, and some of that awful tension relaxes, if only a little, at the scent of sunshine and cinnamon when he opens the bag.

“Cass said you’d find it funny.” Steph beams at him. “Y’know, red tea, Red Hood, tea jokes—” She shrugs.

“That’s,” Jason says, and he can’t stop smiling, “really sweet of her. Thanks.”

“Hey, I’m just the delivery gal for this particular present,” Steph says, but she’s pleased, the tilt of her smile easy to read. “She’ll be glad to know you like it, though.”

She bumps open the door to the remaining theater, beckons him in. “So, what’ll it be, Jason?”

“Well,” he says, “I brought cookies — chocolate chip —“

“None better,” Steph chirps.

“And Tim got me _Pacific Rim,_ so. We could watch that, if you want.”

“Hell yeah,” Steph says, a gleam in her eye. “You know me too well, there is literally never a time I will not watch _Pacific Rim_. Let’s do this thing.”

There’s a pile of blankets and pillows heaped haphazardly over the seats near the middle of the theater, and Steph vanishes into the projection booth at the back, the DVD tucked under her arm. Jason toes off his boots and jacket and starts rearranging the blankets around the seats, piling pillows in the row for comfort.

The screen flickers on, a familiar _dun-da-dun_ twanging brightly through the auditorium, and a minute later, Steph reappears with a kettle and two mugs. 

“Alright, Boy Wonder,” she says, settling in comfortably at his side. “Let’s cancel this motherfucking anniversary.”

 

Two hours later, sleepy and tired, smudges of chocolate on their cheeks and an empty cookie tin at their feet, Steph stirs.

“What a great movie,” she says dreamily. “Mako Mori. Inspirational.”

“I know,” Jason says, sounding just as dreamy even to his own ears. “Holy fuck. What a fantastic character.”

Steph hums in agreement, and they fall quiet for a minute. The chairs creak as Jason shifts, his foot on the verge of falling asleep.

“Hey, Jay,” Steph says suddenly. “D’you think Babs would help us make a Jaeger? So we can scare the pants off Bruce the next time he’s an ass?”

Jason tilts his head. “A small one, right?”

“I mean, big enough to scare him,” Steph says. “But obviously not, like, twenty-five tons of hugeness. A smallish one.”

Jason grins, leaning back. “Yeah, I bet we could talk her into it.”

Steph holds out her hand. “Team Even Robin rocks,” she says, grinning, and Jason slaps her hand, meets the tips of her fingers with his, echoes the complicated wiggle she performs without any trouble. 

“It really fucking does, Steph,” he says. “It really does.”


End file.
